


Silver

by mathildia



Category: Original Work
Genre: BDSM, Being Idiots, Bondage, Boot Worship, Caning, Cheating, Collars, F/M, Femdom, Findom, Guilt, Humiliation, Infidelity, Kissing, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Nipple Clamps, Photographs, Romance, Sadism, Sex Work, Spanking, Voyeurism, Whipping, no kissing rule, serial numbers filed off
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-09-12 21:39:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16879686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mathildia/pseuds/mathildia
Summary: An unnamed male actor meets a dominatrix and decides to grab this chance to make his secret desires a reality.He's married. He shouldn't be doing this.“Wow,” he says and his voice sounds thicker than he would have liked. “Cool job.”“Cooler than film star?”“To some people.”“What people?” The tease in her voice is unmistakable.And, damnit, he shouldn’t do this. Fuck he really shouldn’t do this. There are so many reasons why. He has a wife. He has two fucking kids. But his nipples are hard under his shirt and his breath is short and his blood is all in his groin and he tilts his head down so he’s looking at her through his hair. And he bites his lip.“Oh,” she says. “Really?”





	1. Chapter 1

So they wrap early one afternoon because of the weather and he finds himself alone in a rain soaked foreign city, so far from home and lonely as hell. Only a week until he flies home for Christmas. Another Christmas with his wife and the kids, the thought of it makes him feel warm and safe. 

He walks around, not ready to go back to an empty hotel room. He finds a bar. 

It’s busy. The rain probably. But he finds a quiet table and gets comfy with his pint.

“Oh. Sorry.” 

The woman is standing next to the table. He hadn’t noticed but there’s a coat slung over the other chair. A black leather trench. It’s funny he wouldn’t notice. He’d normally notice a coat like that, but this table is in a dark corner. That’s why he picked it.

“Oh. Is this your table,” he says, starting to stand.

“No, no. I was just in the bathroom. Please don’t worry,” the woman says. She’s American. Of course. Or Canadian. He still can’t tell the difference. Short. Pretty, but not stunning. Her brown hair is in a pony tail and she’s all in black. Black tee, black jeans. “Sorry,” she says again and looks around the room, like she’d going to take her coat and find another table, but there isn’t another table. 

“Share,” he says, with a gesture to her chair. “I’m alone.”

“Thanks, says the woman. She sits, pulling a laptop from her bag and he goes back to his book, with a long pull of his pint.

He doesn’t pay her much attention until she swears, “Damn,” and closes the laptop.

“You okay?” he says.

“I’m fine. The Wifi in here is out again.”

“Oh. I see,” he says, looking back to his book.

“I’m, uh, I’m Clara, by the way.”

He shakes her hand and tells her his name. He doesn’t lie. Doesn’t feel the need to. 

“So, look, I’m sorry to do this, but do I know you from somewhere? You look familiar.”

“Maybe. I’m an actor. I’m in town filming.”

“Wow,” she says, impressed. It does impress people. He kind of wishes it didn’t. Has before considered lying and saying he’s a plumber, but that has so many pitfalls he can’t even begin. 

So he says, “What about you?”

She smiles knowingly. “You’d never believe me.”

He grins back and looks her over. The leather trench. The black outfit. He has this thought that he pushes away. 

But then, she leans closer over the table and he can smell a subtle, dark perfume. “Don’t laugh, okay, but, actually, I’m a dominatrix.”

He is sure she is kidding. She has to be kidding. But then she looks at her face and unless she’s a good actor…

He’s a good actor. That’s how he can disguise his breathless, sudden erection.

“Wow,” he says and his voice sounds thicker than he would have liked. “Cool job.”

“Cooler than film star?”

“To some people.”

“What people?” The tease in her voice is unmistakable. 

And, damnit, he shouldn’t do this. Fuck he really shouldn’t do this. There are so many reasons why. He has a wife. He has two fucking kids. But his nipples are hard under his shirt and his breath is short and his blood is all in his groin and he tilts his head down so he’s looking at her through his hair. And he bites his lip.

“Oh,” she says. “Really?”

And then he’s flustered. He shouldn’t have done that. He should have kept firmly on the side of plausible deniability. But it’s too late. It’s done so he says. “Oh, I dunno. I’ve never done it. I just, I just like the idea. I guess. Sometimes at work… “ He tails off, picks up a pint and takes a long drink. 

“It’s not that unusual you know.”

“I know.”

“You’ve done research?”

“Bit. Yeah.” He’s pulling away. Or trying to. Pulling his desires back down inside himself, packing them away like he has before. He thinks: he’ll make an excuse and he’ll go to the bar. He’ll go to the bar and get another pint and when he pays he’ll open his wallet and he’ll look at the picture in there of his wife and the kids and when he does that all of this will go away. It has before.

And he doesn’t.

He doesn’t do that.

He doesn’t get up.

He leans closer and says, very, very softly to the woman in the trench coat. “Are you expensive?”

“Very.”

*

The Dungeon Clara works at isn’t far away. On the way she says, “Look, normally I don’t meet clients in the street so you should probably know now, I’m not called Clara in there.”

“Okay. What should I call you?”

“What I tell you.”

“Right. Are you going to tell me now?”

“Silver. I’m called Silver in there.”

“Mistress Silver?”

“You sure you haven’t done this before?”

He laughs and they turn into an unmarked doorway that could be a hotel or a club or even a private house. 

*

She leaves him in an area that looks like a doctors reception, with a questionnaire to fill out about any health issues he might have. He pauses over the spot where he has to give contact details for his next of kin. Eventually writing his brother’s name and number.

When he’s done he gives it to the woman at the counter. She’s very glamorous, done up like a fantasy version of a receptionist. He quite likes it. She says, “Changing room’s through there. Do you want to change?”

“I don’t have anything to change into.”

“Up to you. Do you want a locker for your valuables. Phone, jewellery.” She looks at his hand. 

His ring. “Yeah,” he says, “yeah thanks.” 

When Silver comes back she's wearing a black vest and short shiny skirt. His mouth goes driest at the boots, though. The boots are like boots he’s dreamed about, shiny, with spiky heels and so high they almost touch the hem of her tiny skirt. Her pony is higher and her make up is darker and he wishes he was wearing something better than jeans and a ratty band tee shirt. And that’s before he even clocks the whip she’s holding. 

“Oh man,” he says quietly as she sits down opposite him with a slight squeak.

“You okay?” she says.

“Barely.”

She gestures down at herself. “Not too obvious.”

“It’s like being slapped in the face with what I want.”

“I can also slap you in the face in the old fashioned way, if you’d like that.”

“Fuck,” he mutters, looking down.

“Talking of which, Okay. Now, this bit is sometimes a bit awkward if you’re new, but we have to discuss your limits.”

“No sex,” he says, quickly.

“No sex, okay. We don’t do that here. Just so you know. Although, you can get off, if you want to. You have to do it yourself but I can be there. I can say things to you.”

“No,” he says, very firmly. “No. Please. Nothing like that.”

“Okay. Kissing?”

“No.”

“Noted. What else.”

“No marks,” he says, thinking of his 6am call in the morning.

“No marks. But you do want pain?”

His breath catches. “Yes. Please.”

“And, humiliation.”

He nods. “God. Yes.”

Anything else. “Cross dressing? Puppy play? Bondage?”

“Bondage, yes. And I don’t want to be a puppy, but can I wear a collar. Please.” He swallows. “Mistress.”

“Yes, Sugar. Yes you can,” she says, reaching out and stroking his cheek.

He closes his eyes and whispers. “I just want to be a thing. Your thing. I want to be owned and possessed and used.”

A silence hangs between them after that. Nothing. Just her hand on his face.

“I’m going to take you to my dungeon room now.” Her voice seems to float into his consciousness. “When we get there I want you to take off your shirt and your jeans and kneel, okay?

“Yes, Mistress.”

*

The room is large, carpeted in red with white walls. No windows. The carpet is expensive. Soft under his knees. Silver walks over to him with a black leather collar in her hand. He can’t help staring at the way her boots glisten as she moves. 

She holds out the collar. He lifts his chin.

“I want you to thank me for this, understand?”

“Yes Mistress.”

She buckles the collar around his neck and he’s glad he’s already kneeling because his legs feel like water. “Thank you, Mistress,” he breathes.

“You love using that word don’t you?” she says as she straightens.

“Yes Mistress.”

“How long have you been wanting to call a woman Mistress?”

“Since I heard you could, Mistress.”

“Your safe word is red. You know what a safe word is, don’t you?”

He nods. 

“Okay handsome, let’s give you a warm up spanking and see if you’re as much of a slut as you look. See that bench, the low one. I want you to kneel on the pads and lie yourself over. And you’ll crawl in this room unless I tell you different. Understand?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

He crawls to the bench, ashamed already of how good it felt not to be allowed to walk in her presence. To be casually watched as he did this humiliating thing. His dick has been hard since he was been sitting in reception, but it seems to get harder as he crawls across the room. He hears Silver purr behind him, a soft sound of approval. He revels in it.

The bench, when he reaches it, has low padded steps to kneel on and a long slightly raised area to lie over. When he does so, he finds pads on the far side for his hands too and down. Silver is beside him. “Very nice, handsome. Now, I’ll just strap your wrists, because, I do like it if you’re helpless. 

And she did it. She buckled thick leather straps around each of his wrists and they held him, tight and helpless. He moaned quietly as she moved around him to strap his ankles too.

“First time tied up?” Silver says, coming back around in front of him.

“No. Actually.”

“No?”

“I tied myself up once. Out in the woods, when I was young. Then I got scared I would be able to get free and I panicked. I never did it again.”

“Good thing too. That’s not safe. It’s a good job you’re here to be punished isn’t it?”

“Yes. I suppose.”

She slaps his face. So hard he gasps. “You can do better than that.”

“Yes, Mistress”

“Better. Now, ask for your punishment like a good boy.”

He looks at her, face sudden hot. He’s filled with desire, Pounding with it. Blood racing in his ears. “Please, punish me, Mistress.” And, oh, it feels good to say that. So good and warm and right. 

And then she walks around him and slaps his ass. Surprisingly hard. He takes a hard breath as the sting turns to heat. And then she does it again.

He makes a sound that could be pain or arousal. He’s not sure himself. But he keeps on making it as she spanks him a dozen time until his ass is throbbing in his underwear.

“There’s your warm up spanking. Can you take a little more?”

“Yes Mistress.”

“Good, lets see how you like a paddle.”

This sting is bright. More than he’d thought. A wide area of his ass is suddenly burning and then it takes his breath when she hits him again where he’s already raw. He’s panting.

It’s hurts.

It’s so good. 

“Please, Mistress”, he says, turning his head and seeing her attention snap to him, paddle raised. 

“What is it, handsome?”

“Harder. Please. Harder.”

She smiles. “That’s my brave boy,” she says and the next slap of the paddle makes him scream. 

After five more he's half gone. He’s drooling. He barely registers when she says, “How you doing there, handsome?”

“More,” he growls is a rough voice. A voice from the depths of him. “More please.”

“Looks like someone’s found out they’re a pain slut.” 

“More.”

But Silver is putting down the paddle. “Don’t worry. They’ll be more. That was just the warm up, remember. Are you thirsty? You were yelling pretty loud back there.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

Silver unbuckles his restraints and helps him onto the floor. When he’s caught his breath she slides a shiny metal dog bowl in front of him with one foot.

“What? What’s this?”

“Water,” she says and, standing in front of him, nothing from this angle except a pair of shiny boots, she pours water from an Evian bottle into the bowl in front of him.

“Like a dog?”

“Clever boy.”

He feels a new hot rush of arousal as he lowers himself, bring his face to the surface of the water. He is thirsty. But he tries to do this well. Like its something for a class. He likes being called ‘Handsome’ and he wants to make this good, dragging his tongue slowly across the surface of the water. He still ends up with a very wet face. 

Above him Silver sighs and he realises what this action is reminiscent of. 

She’s standing right by him. There’s a familiar scent in the air. Her skirt is very short.

She crouches in front of him and the scent gets stronger. It’s delicious. 

“It’s so hard not to kiss you, Handsome,” she says, grabbing hold of his chin. “Especially when you put on a show like that.” She pauses, she’s breathing hard. “I’m gonna have to…” she looks around the room. “I’m gonna have to get you out of temptation’s way. Get in that cage, you fucking slut.” And she shoves him, angrily away from her. He has to move an arm to stop himself falling. And then he sees it. 

The cage is about the size of a crate for a large dog. “Oh no,” he says, letting a thought spill out. 

“Sorry, buddy,” says Silver, giving him another shove, “but if you want to stay chaste while teasing me like that, you gotta give a girl a break. Now get the fuck in there.”

“Yes, Mistress,” he manages and begins to crawl again. 

*

He can’t turns around in the cage, or even lift his head. Behind him he hears her close the door and draw the bolts. “Do you like it in there?” she says, walking around the cage to stand in front of him.

Those boots fill his world again for a second until she crouches down. “Yes, Mistress,” he says. 

“You ever thought about this before?”

“A cage. No. Never. I might after this though.”

“What do you think about? When you’re thinking your filthy thoughts, I mean?”

“First, being tied up by a gang of girls who were mean to me, laughing at me. When I got older it was more like, being in a place like this. Begging. Crying. Being whipped and then humiliated for liking it. Licking a woman’s boots. A woman like you. With boots like yours. Oh God,” he looks up at her, “please, let me. Mistress, may I lick you boots?

“Perhaps. If you’re good. If you let me whip you.”

“I can’t,” he says. “M-marks.”

“I have a whip that won’t leave marks. You’re not the first man with that request.”

“Will it hurt?”

“Yes. A lot.”

“But I can lick your boots if I do it.”

“If you take it all for me like a good brave boy.”

“Okay.”

“Ah, c’mon,” she knocks her boot against the cage.

He meets her eyes. “Yes, Mistress. Please whip me. Please. Let me take it for you. I, I want it.”

She takes him out the cage, letting him stand and stretch out, although he hasn’t been cramped up very long. She clips a leash to his collar and leads him, crawling behind her, to the back of the room. Against the wall is a cross. A St Andrews, he knows from both Sunday School and fetish websites. 

“I think you know what to do, cowboy,” she says. And he does. He stands up and leans against the cross with a slow, breathed, “Yes, Mistress,” stretches out his limbs and lets her strap him in place at wrist and ankle. It’s tight. He’s pulled hard into position. There’s a distinct stretch under his arms where they’re pulled upwards. He gasps and catches his breath to realise how little movement he really has. 

He doesn’t notice she’s walked away, until she’s back, close to him. She has something in her hand. It’s a red ball on a black strap and he knows exactly what it is. It’s something he’s dreamed about. “You want this, handsome?” she says. 

Without a word, he opens his mouth as wide as he can. Because, oh god, he does. When she shoves it in, that red rubber ball, sour and uncomfortable in his mouth, he moans with desire, pushing at it with his tongue, feeling how secure it is. His hips jolt.

“Oh,” she says, sounding amused. “Someone really likes being gagged. Not gonna lie precious, I didn’t think I could make you look any more handsome than you did in that pub, but here we are. And talking of which, I hope you’re not too attached to your underwear, baby.”

There’s a soft sound. A snick and he realises a moment later it was a knife. A knife that is now slicing through his underwear. He gasp out, “No, no,” into the gag, but he doesn’t stop her, doesn’t say say red into the rubber. He lets her strip him, shredding the seams so his underwear falls away leaving him naked in front of her, helpless and gagged and ready for whipping. 

“Now that,” says Silver, taking a step back to enjoy the view, “is even better than the packaging promised.”

She’s out of view now. He can hear her soft steps on the carpet, moving around, building his anticipation. He so aware he’s naked. He’s naked and she’s going to whip him and then there’s a whistle, a movement of air and a slap followed by the slow blossoming of a long burn. 

The force of it has shoved him into the cross and he has so catch his breath and right himself, barely managing before it happens again. Another stripe, another long lick and burn. It’s savage and he grunts into the gag, pulling at the restraints.

Again. It hurts more. More and more. And, again, like the paddle, it’s so good, so damn good. 

Again. This one is harder and he sighs and cries out. His legs are weak. His head is fuzzy and the next stroke feels like a punch. He moans. Losing himself to the pain now, the thud and then the burn. All his skin is fire. He is helpless to stop it, stretched out under the whip and gagged, being used like a thing for his mistress’s pleasure. He whimpers and writhes on and on, gasping in pain, and then realises, he is close to coming. 

His mind scrambles. Did he even say anything about this? He didn’t tell her she couldn’t make him come like this. But he didn’t know he could come like this. He said no sex. But is this sex? Either way, he knows, he can’t let this happen. He writhes helpless for a second before he remembers what to do and cries out, “Red’” into the gag. “Red, red.”

The whip hits the ground. She’s right behind him in a blink. Her hands move fast and the gag falls out of his mouth. “What is it, handsome?” she says, her voice edged with concern.

“I…” he begins. “Fuck I. I was going to come, Mistress.”

“Ah, okay. Aren’t we a special boy? Right. Lets get you off this and calm you down.”

She does. Fast. Lowering him to the floor and putting him on his knees. She brings him more water, this time in a bottle which she hold to his mouth. He takes a grateful gulp. 

“Okay?” she says, after a second. 

He nods.

“You want to go on. Or not?”

He looks up at her, stood over him, legs wide. Those boots. He wets his lips. “I want to, Mistress, I still want to lick your boots, please.”

“You can keep it together, handsome?”

“I’ll try.”

“Okay.” She pats his cheek, before turning and walking away from him. 

In a corner of the room is a chair. A throne-like chair with carved arms and an ornate high back. Silver sits on it and looks back at him. “Crawl over here, slut,” she says. “My boots are dirty.”

He sighs and crawls and his dick is harder than it was for the whipping. He is crawling naked for the first time now and his mouth is watering. He is fucking drooling. He crawls across the carpet to her trying not to move too fast, until he is kneeling at her feet, looking up at her on her throne. And her boots.

“Beg,” she says.

“Please Mistress, may I lick your boots?” he says, words tumbling out of him.

“I don’t know,” she says, “Have you been good enough?”

“I did everything you asked, Mistress. Oh God please.”

“Perhaps I’ll let you kiss the bottom of this one.” She lifts her left boot from the carpet and offers it to him.

“Thank you, Mistress, Thank you.” He takes her ankle carefully and kisses the middle of her sole. 

“The other,” she says, lifting her right boot.,

“Thank you,” he breaths and does it again.

“Okay, handsome,” she says, replacing her foot on the floor. “You may lick my boots. Don’t miss a spot.”

“Thank you,” he murmurs, “thank you, thank you,” as his lips meet the shiny leather of her right toe and he drags his mouth over it, slow and delicious. His dick is pulsing as he does it and he can hear Silver moaning softly as he she watches his mouth work over her boots. He works his way up, right to the top edge, so close to her cunt, he steals a glance up her skirt. She isn’t wearing underwear and he can see her, wet and red. He moans then and feels her hand on his head shoving him back down. 

“That’s enough of that. Time for the other boot, handsome,” she says, and he begins again.

This time when he reaches the top he doesn’t look, but he does kiss her inner thigh, the piece of her warm skin that emerges from the top of her boot and when he does that he hears her murmur, “Fuck.” He thinks about going higher, daring to defy her and kiss his way right up her thigh until is face is buried between her legs and he licks and kisses her until she comes screaming. 

“Okay,” she says, her voice is suddenly bright like a bell and she’s leaning over to unbuckle the collar. “And that’s time. Take a minute if you need one. There’s fresh underwear in the trunk and a shower behind that door in the corner.

*

He showers, trying to ignore his dick, although he desperately wants to jerk it, it feels like this would still be wrong. In the trunk by the door he finds a collection of generic black trunks, still new, in their packaging. He finds an M and slides them on.

Back in reception he’s collecting his ring when Clara comes out in a t shirt and sweatpants. “Hey,” she says. 

“Hey,” he replies, bashful. “Look, thanks, that was. That was incredible.”

“Glad you liked it, handsome. It was pretty special for me too. You in town long?”

“Gone next week. Home for Christmas.”

“Ah, yes.” Her face changes, but he can’t tell what she’s thinking. “Okay then, Handsome. But can I give you some advice.”

“What?”

“Tell your wife.”

“About this.”

“About you.”


	2. Chapter 2

He loves Christmas. What man like him wouldn’t? He has young excitable children, a beautiful wife. A perfect family and money to spend on them. He’s goes to church with his parents on Christmas Day and just shrugs when his mother asks him when was last there. 

He thinks about Silver. A little. But he has a plan about that. He won’t be going back to that city. He won’t ever see her again. He’s thinking about her now, but that’s okay. In time he’ll forget about it. Get on with his life.

And then his agent calls about reshoots and his contractual obligations.

So it’s February. The sky is grey and the streets are full of slush. And he’s back in her city and far from home. A city that, as far as he is concerned, has one sole consolation. And one huge drawback. Which are both the exact same thing.

He’s not going back to that place. 

But he’s been in town a week and he’s walked past the doorway three times.

He would never have gone inside, though. So it’s hardly his fault if fate steps in, nudges him along. Hardly his fault, that one afternoon when he’s wasting time before a night shoot, he’s out walking in the street and he sees her. He’d recognise that coat anywhere.

“Clara?”

She stops. It takes her a moment but then she recognises him and smiles. “Oh hey handsome. I thought you left town.”

“I did,” he says, stepping back against a wall so the flow of people on the sidewalk don’t run into him. “Back for reshoots.”

“Oh cool. So cool.”

He shrugs.

“Isn’t it?”

“It kind of is. I suppose. So, look, I was going to come and see you. At the place. The, uh, dungeon.” Was he? Was he even? Is he being polite or just telling her what he knows is the truth.

“Oh great.” Her face cracks into a huge smile. “That’s so great. But I’m not actually working there anymore.”

“What? Why?”

She wrinkles her nose. “Just one of those things. Place got raided on Christmas Eve and then the owners closed down for a few weeks. When they opened up they didn’t take everyone back.” 

“What?” he says, genuinely surprised. “They didn’t take you? Why would they not take you?”

“Because I’m expensive.”

“Oh. But isn’t that good. Don’t they take a cut?”

“I guess but this means they can get some younger girls in and they’ll take a smaller fee, but the dungeon can charge the same and their cut is bigger. I’m sure they’ll find you someone good though. Some young babe to slap you around.” She gives him a playful shoulder punch but it feels fake, like she’s hiding something.

“Right. I guess. Are you okay? If you were fired. Are you okay for money? Can I buy you dinner or something?”

“I’m fine, handsome, really. I’ve still got my regulars. I rent a play space and it’s all good.”

“Oh.” He brightens to hear she’s not retired. “So, in that case, can I be a regular?”

“Flatterer.”

“Really though. I want to, I want to do it again. I do. But with you. Can we arrange that? Can it be with you?”

Her eyes are dark. “Look, it’s complicated. Have you got time for a drink? I don’t want to discuss this on the street.”

*

They go to a bar she knows a block away. He gets beer and buys her a cranberry juice. This place is quieter than the bar where they met. When he grabs the drinks he sees she’s snagged a booth and he pauses just to look at her for a moment. She shrugs out of the leather trench. Black again. Black leggings and a long black sweater. Her black ankle boots make his breath catch for a moment and he imagines her ordering him under the table to kiss them.

And, God, Jesus, oh he would. He do it right there in front of everyone if she told him to. He’d crawl across the bar to her right now. And they’d all know what he was. Everyone in here.

He fizzes with desire.

But he doesn’t crawl anywhere. He has to carry drinks.

“Okay, look,” she says as he slides into the seat across from her. “Officially, I’m not meant to take any clients I met through the dungeon.I signed a contract.”

He frowns. “We didn’t meet there. We met in a bar.”

She cocks her head. “Sure but, technically you’re their client. You filled out forms and somewhere in there it would have said this was your first session with me, so you’re theirs. Off limits to me, anyway.”

“I don’t want to be theirs. I want to be yours.”

She smiles. “That’s nice. It’s not that simple though. I can’t just waltz off with their clients.”

“But you have regulars, you said.”

“I do. but they’re clients who were already with me when I started there.” She shrugs, taking a sip of juice. “That’s how it works.”

“Okay. How much?”

“For what?”

“I get it. You’re taking a risk, seeing me. Breaking a contract. So how much do you want, extra, considering I’m a risk for you?”

She pauses to think and he can see her tongue moving in her mouth. “I guess: triple,” she says, sounding uneasy.

“Fine.”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “Wow. You really like me then?”

“Yep. But also my job does have some perks. The money is nice.” He holds her gaze. “And I’ll pay you whatever you want. I like paying you. I like doing what you tell me to do.”

“Okay then, cowboy.” She raises her glass and clinks it against his. “You are on.”

They both drink and he smiles at her. “If you’re working for yourself does that mean you can have sex with clients?” he says, realising too late how it sounds.

“Woah, buddy. What?” says Clara, spluttering on her juice. “That is not what I was quoting you a price for.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean because I was paying more I should… I was just wondering. Honestly.”

“Sure. Okay. Well, it does. If I want to. But I don’t,” she pauses, “mostly. You sure there’s no reason why are you’re asking that?”

“Only because I just want you to be able to do whatever you want to me.”

“And you think I want to fuck you?”

“Don’t you?”

Her eyes are hard then, hard like she’s seen this before and it bores her, but he wonders if she’s faking it. “That’s none of your business, handsome.”

He's flustered by that. “I don’t, look, I don’t even know. I was going to plan out how I was going to say this before I went to your old place, but what I mean is: I want you to do whatever you want to me. I really need you to. And so long as I don’t come, it’s okay. You can do anything.”

“Right.” She raises one eyebrow.

“Just no coming. And no kissing. And I mean, you could come. If you wanted that.” The thought comes in an unbidden rush, how much he wants that. How much he wants he to use him, how much he wants her pleasure to come at he cost of his suffering.

“Okay,” she says, snapping him out of it. “And these are your rules, are they? Or…” 

“They’re not my wife’s rules if that’s what you’re getting at.” He takes a breath. “she doesn’t know anything about this. Still. I didn’t speak to her. I know you said I ought to, and you’re probably right, but it was Christmas and there just wasn’t a time and these reshoots came out of the blue. I never expected to be here and then I was, I am, and, oh… I don’t know.” He shakes his head, takes a drink. “I don’t know. Sorry.”

“‘Salright. It’s okay with me, either way.” She shrugs at him. “No kissing, no orgasms.”

He smiles relieved. “Okay. Okay good.”

“Is there anything else you want? Last time was just a taster really, the more you tell me the better I can make it.”

“I don’t want to tell you what to do.”

“Nor do I.” She smiles. “Hate that.”

He looks down at the wood of the table top. His cheeks start to redden. He’s still so ashamed of how much he needs it. “Okay.” He doesn’t look up. “Okay. I want you to be meaner to me. I want you to be really fucking mean. Do anything you want. Hurt me more. Humiliate me more. Please. I need it so much. God.” He finally looks up at her and he is panting. His dick is hard. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about. I just want it to be… I want it to be fucking brutal. I want to cry. I want to beg you to stop.”

“You seem like you need something right now,” she says dryly.

“Yes Mistress,”he whispers. Not expecting anything. It’s just a fact.

“There’s an accessible bathroom, back there,” she points across the bar, “ just around that corner there. You go first, I’ll be right behind you.”

He wants to say something back. Question her. Ask what on earth she is going to do to him in the bathroom of a bar, but he doesn’t. The bigger buzz comes from obeying her without question. He takes a big slug of his beer and goes. 

He’s been in the bathroom a couple of minutes, just leaning against the white tiled wall, feeling it cold through his jacket, wondering if she’s really coming; if, perhaps, she just sent him here to calm down. He touches his hard dick through his pants with the palm of his hand and almost loses his balance. He is so close. Jesus.

And then the door open. And there she is.

“Get on the fucking floor,” she says as she turns to lock the door. So he gets on his knees for her. When she turns back she looks at him. “That’s nice handsome. Now get your head down. All the way down. Forehead on the floor.”

He does it. Lowers himself onto his hands and then keeps going down until his face is against the floor. He’s so turned on by the time he gets there that he’s shaking.

“Look at you,” she says and voice sounds harder than it ever has, cruel and nasty. “Kneeling on the floor of a fucking bar bathroom, just because a piece of shit likes you needs to be reminded its worth nothing.”

He gasps into the floor. A long humiliating moan that barely sounds human.

She crouches down over him. He can feel her hand in his hair and she’s soft again, “Someone really did miss me, huh?”

“Yes Mistress.”

She takes hold of a handful of hair and yanks, lifting his head up off the floor just enough that he can look at her. “You know something, handsome, I missed you too.”

“Thank you Mistress.”

“I missed you enough that I’m going to let you kiss my boot.”

“Fuck,” he gasps out. He can’t help himself.

“Just one kiss, though, that’s all you get for a cranberry juice.”

“I understand Mistress.”

She straightens up while he tries to recover himself a small amount. Then, she pushes one foot forward into his line of vision. “Ask,” she says.

“Please Mistress,” he begins on a ragged breath, kneeling on the floor of a bathroom, desperate and obedient. “Please may I kiss your boot.”

“Yes, handsome, you may.”

He leans down, carefully, and as lightly as he can bear, he places a kiss on her toe, feeling a jolt of arousal as he does it. 

He hears her sigh as he sits back on his heels and gazes up at her. He’s still shaking.

She touches is cheek. “What do you need, cowboy?”

It all tumbles out of him then. “Please. More. Please Mistress, please. I’ve waited so long. I haven’t been able to think about anything else. I want to belong to you.” 

She twisted her fingers in his hair again and tilts his face up further, exposing his neck. “Is that right?” Her voice is hard again. He squirms on the floor.

“Yes. Please. I’ll do anything. I just want you to be really mean to me. Anything you want. Be cruel. Make me feel used and pathetic, please.”

Her eyes move as she thinks for a moment, then,“Okay. Give me your money.”

“What?”

“You want to feel like a desperate piece of shit. Get out your fucking wallet and give me all the money in it.”

His breath catches. “Yes Mistress.”

He has about a two hundred dollars in there. He takes is all out. “Here, Mistress, please take it. Do whatever you want to me.” The buzz he feels as he hands over the money, just because she told him to, is like nothing else. A jolt of pure, twisted pleasure. 

“Good,” she says taking it. “Now go home and jerk off about this you desperate fucking slut.” And she shoves his money down the front of her sweater and leaves him there on his knees. 

*

When he’s recovered enough to leave the bathroom, he totters back to their table. His beer is still there and he takes a long swig. All of her stuff is gone. But she has left him a business card that says S I L V E R over a line of digits and under that, in blue ink, is scrawled, ‘Text me, handsome.’

He leaves the bar after he’s finished his drink and feels able to function. His legs are a little wobbly but he’ll cope. His first thought is that he needs to find an ATM.

Just outside the bar a homeless guy is sat on the pavement with a cardboard sign. He’s staring at the paper cup he has set on the street in front of him. Stuffed into it is a thick wad of notes. 

“You alright, mate.”

The man snatches up the cup warily. But he nods.

“Looks like you’ve got yourself about 200 dollars there.”

*

He texts her late that evening during a rigging break. He doesn’t expect her to be up.

\- Hey. Thanks for this afternoon.

But her reply bounces right back.

\- That’s okay. Don’t mention it  
\- I didn’t expect you to still be up  
\- I won’t be for long. I’m in bed

He blinks and stares at what she’s written. Not sure why it’s made him feel the way he feels.

There are lines he has told himself he won’t cross. They sit close to his heart. They absolve him. They mean he can kneel on that bathroom floor, panting, with his dick hard and give Clara all the money in his wallet without being jolted out of it by the picture of his wife and kids he keeps in there too. 

Lines. No kissing. No orgasms. What he’s doing is, it’s not great, it’s not something his wife would be happy about if she knew. They’re not like that. But he needs this. He justifies it that way. He needs to have this. What he doesn’t need, is to picture Clara in bed and get a warm glow in the pit of his belly. Those kinds of feelings, those are for his wife. 

He needs to keep these boundaries or where will he be?

\- I just wanted to book that session  
\- You’re eager  
\- I just have a lot on. I want to make sure I make time  
\- Okay. When are you free, cowboy?  
\- It’s all night shoots so afternoons are good. I could do tomorrow. If you’re free.  
\- Tomorrow afternoon is good

His breath catches. The hairs go up on the back of his neck. Tomorrow. He feels his need to get on his knees in front of her break over him like a wave, lie heavy on him like a thick, perfumed blanket.

\- Great. And can I ask something?  
\- Sure  
\- Can we just start when I arrive. No friendly chat. Can you just be mean to me as soon as I arrive.  
\- Okay. How mean?  
\- Very. The worst.  
\- Sure handsome. Whatever you want.


	3. Chapter 3

It’s raining and before he rings the doorbell he slicks back his wet hair.

_You don’t need to make yourself look good for her_ , he tell himself, even as he does it, _you’re paying her a fortune. It doesn’t matter what she thinks._

_Except it does._

It matters even more when she opens the door in a black PVC catsuit. Every part of her from the neckline down is covered, apart from a small part of the top of her feet between the ankle hems and the curve of her heels. She even wears matching gloves. When he sees them he instantly aches to have her touch him wearing them. “Fuck,” he says.

She looks him up and down. She looks amused. “You’re such a sucker for this shit.” He shrugs and as he does her expression changes. “Anyway, you piece of shit, get inside and get your fucking clothes off.”

“All of them?” 

She slaps him then with her black shiny hand. He’s still standing in the street. It’s a quiet side street in the rain, but he still feels a zip of humiliation. _If anyone had seen_. “Don’t ask me stupid fucking questions.” She yanks him in through the door with that, holding a bunch of the fabric of his shirt. He could resist her, or course he could, but he doesn’t. He never would. He lets her manhandle him through a hallway and in through another door. 

He hears her locking that door and he realises he’s been shoved into the room and behind a screen. He’s in a corner. There’s a black glossy floor and the walls he can see are grey. There’s a chair and a small table with a bottle of water on it. He starts to strip, folding his clothes onto the chair. 

He pauses before he takes off his underwear, but decides he’d better obey exactly what she told him. 

“When you’re done, handsome,” Silver calls from the other side of the screen, “you can come out. Don’t forget what I told you about crawling.”

“Yes, Mistress,” he manages, as he puts his underwear on the chair, gets onto his hands and knees and crawls out from behind the screen, already panting with arousal.

Silver is standing right in front of him, blocking his view of most of the room but it seems big, bigger than before. She’s holding something familiar in her hands.

“Remember this?”

“Yes Mistress,” he says, looking at the collar. 

“Did you know it could do this?” she says, leaning over a little and cracking the leather strap across his ass. 

He yelps, then adds, “No, Mistress. Thank you, Mistress.”

She grabs his chin with her empty hand and tilts his face up to look at her. “Pretty and dumb,” she says, “not a bad combination.”

“Thank you mistress.”

She slaps his face. Just a tap. “Kneel up now. Let’s get this on.”

He does so and she buckles the collar around his neck. Her shiny gloves squeak as she does it. When it’s secure, he swallows and feels the leather hugging his neck. It’s not tight, it’s just insistently, stiffly there. He moans quietly. 

She’s smiling at him. With the fingers of one hand in his hair, she walks around him, her fingers twisting enough that he gasps with pain. “Very nice,” she says, “I should keep you naked more often. I think it helps you remember your place.” As she moves he can finally see more of the room. There are cages, shackles on the wall. Nothing he doesn’t expect, but it still makes his breath catch, wondering what she will use to restrain him or hurt him today.

“And speaking of knowing your place. I think today you ought to spend a little more time behind a gag,” which is an answer he didn’t quite expect. 

He doesn’t mean to, but he moans again. It’s louder.

“I’m glad you agree. Now this,” she’s already holding the gag. He’s not sure when she got it, “is a ball gag, just like you wore last time. I liked how it looked so I thought I’d indulge myself. Open up for me handsome.” He opens his mouth and she leans in, pressing the ball into his mouth. She walks around him to fasten it in back, drawing the ball deeper into his mouth. “Couple of things. This gag locks so, you won’t be able to take it off yourself, not that you’d ever try such a thing.”

“No,” he grunts into the rubber. It’s muffled but intelligible. 

“Such a good boy,” she says, walking back around. “The other thing, handsome,” she says, dropping to a crouch, her glossy knees splaying wide right in front of his face. “Something you may not have had long enough to find out last time, is that, gags like this, make you drool.”

“Huh?” he looks up at her.

She reaches out an touches his bottom lip where it’s stretched around the ball. She pulls it down a little and a string of saliva leaks from behind it. He gasps. She leans in closer. “It’s pretty humiliating, isn’t it? It’ll be doing that all the time before long”

He looks at her, but he can’t find anything to do in response except whimper.

“Now, let’s find a use for you.” She reaches for his collar and he realises she’s snapping a leash to it. Like the gag he’s not sure where he leash came from. It feels like she’s pulling these things out of the air. “Come on,” she says, standing up, “get you hands on the floor, that’s it.” And she tugs at the leash, and he follows, crawling.

She stops in front of a chair a tall wooden chair with wide arm rests and a high back. It’s similar to the throne like chair she sat in at the other dungeon. When she’d sat on that chair he’d got to lick her boots. But he surely hasn’t earned that yet. Nowhere near.

She positions him in front of the chair. Not facing it but sidelong, looking down the room towards a bare wall with shackles fixed to it. And then, she sits in the chair and swings her feet up onto his back. He grunts and she says, “Keep still now.”

And that’s it. She sits there, using him as furniture, humming softly to herself, shifting occasionally to get comfortable.

Of course he tries to do as he’s been told. He doesn’t think he is allowed to lift his head, although he is dying to look at her. He can feel the slight stickiness of the shoes on his back. He wishes there was a mirror. He would like to see what he looks like being used like this. His head is swimming with arousal.

With his face parallel to the floor he starts to drool quickly. It’s mortifying, but any attempts to swallow his spit just result in strange gurgling noises and Silver laughing and cooing, “I know baby, isn’t it degrading?” Soon there is a small pool of it under him that he tries not to look at.

When it’s very quiet he can hear a soft electronic noise. It takes him a moment to realise she’s playing a game on her phone. Not even paying attention to him. He twitches and gives a small moan and she digs one of her heels into his back. “Keep still, handsome.”

After that, whenever he does move, when a shoulder twitches or an arm shakes, she stabs him with her heel again. He likes that so much that although he wants to be good, he finds himself fidgeting and twitching all the more.

At last, in response to a cough, she scrapes her heel right across his back in a sharp, burning line and says, “Okay, enough of that.”

She’s up, marching across the room. He knows he’s not allowed to move, but he does turn his head to watch her and she opens a cabinet on the wall and chooses something from a range of glittering chains and rings and locks and keys.

“Kneel up,” she says as she reaches him. And he does, sitting back on his heels. He rolls his shoulders a moment, enjoying feeling the sore scratches on his back. “Do you know what these are.”

He looks at her hand. On the palm are two little silver things connected by a chain. “Bells, mistress,” he says around the gag. The sounds he makes are humiliating, garbled and muffled by the gag. He’s still drooling. He hates her looking at him like this.

“Bells?” she says, as if he’s a little stupid. “Yes, bells. Bells I am going to attach to you. Can you work out how?”

The bells have small clips attached to them, with tiny metal teeth.

“Can you guess, handsome?” Silver says. “I’m going to attach these little clamps to your pretty little tits. So they hurt all the time. And make a sweet sound every time you move.”

He moans into the gag. He can’t think of anything to say that would be even a little intelligible through the rubber. 

Silver squats down. She takes the first bell, letting the other swing below it from the connecting chain, and presses it to his chest, with a little twist, it snaps home, clamping his nipple in it’s silver teeth. He yells out as the pain jolts through his upper body, then looks up to see Silver is panting. “I like these,” she says and he realises his own heavy, aroused breathing is making the bells ring.

She takes up the second one and positions it. It’s worse this time. He knows what to expect and pushes out a single, “Please,” through the gag, wanting something, just another moment to prepare, but she ignores him and snaps the bell in place and he yells again and over the yell he hears Silver sigh.

They pauses for a moment, both panting, bells jingling and the she says, “Nice, now lets try again. Keep still this time,” as she climbs back onto the chair and he bends over. “I’ll be using this as an incentive.”

He sees in his periphery that from beside to the chair she has grabbed a long black riding crop. “I hear bells,” she says, “you get this.” And she swats his ass with the crop. He gasps out as a fast, hard burn flashes across his skin.

He tries to keep still. The pain from the clamps has subsided to a constant throbbing ache. He likes it. He likes having these things clipped to him that hurt him, that he could reach out and take off in a second, except for he fact that he does what she tells him to do. Being obedient, even when it’s painful or humiliating is intoxicating. He’s so aroused he can’t think. He shivers with it and the bells ring and crop swats his ass hard. 

“Sorry, Mistress,” he garbles through the gag. “Thank you, Mistress.” And he tries to focus on keeping still. He notices he’s whimpering. A pitiful, almost constant, noise. He can’t seem to stop. 

His arms are aching. They start to shake. The bells ring. She hits him again and it’s harder than before and he jerks forward and the bells rings again. She hits him again.

The same thing happens. She hits him again and the bells ring again. Then she’s just hitting him and hitting him. His arms are shaking and the pain is burning. An intense burning, building and building.

He grunts out, “Please,” though the gag, then, “please, please.”

Silver pauses. She slides the crop between his legs, stroking the tip of it over his dick. It’s the first time she’s ever touched him there and he gasps. He isn’t sure if his arms will hold him.

“Too much for you, handsome?” Silver says.

“Please, Mistress,” he says or sounds that are close to it.

“Is humiliating to have to talk through that gag?”

“Yes,” he whimpers. “Please, take it off.”

She’s up from the chair at that and crouching on the floor in front of him. He’s still drooling. Still hates her looking at it. His ass is so hot and sore, his dick feels like its straining for another touch. He’s so overwhelmed, it’s like he might float away. Silver reaches out and touches his mouth with one gloved hand. She worries at the corners, where it stretches around the ball. “It’s chafing here a little.”

He whimpers. He’s drooling on her hand and it’s making him shake with shame.

“If I take it off, will you be good. Only say respectful things like ‘yes, Mistress’, ‘thank you, Mistress’, ‘please, Mistress’, ‘more’, ‘harder’.”

He moans, then manages to control himself enough to say, “Yes, Mistress. Yes, please Mistress.”

She takes a key from somewhere behind her on the chair and unfastens the gag. It falls from his mouth and the relief is so intense it’s like coming. She touches the bells on his chest. The nasty pinch of them seems a thousand times worse when she touches them.

“I think you can keep these for a little longer though, handsome. They suit you.”

“Thank you, Mistress.”

“Are you hungry. Would you like a little something to eat?”

He isn’t sure if he is. He doesn’t think he can feel things like that anymore. They’re likes something from a past life. A life before this room. But he thinks he knows what being fed by her might mean and he wants that. He wants her to feed him like he’s an animal. So he says, “Yes, Mistress. Thank you, Mistress.”

He get the bowl he expects. The one she gave him water in before. This time it contains chunks of watermelon. He kneels where he is. Looking at it, feeling the sharp pinch in his tits.

“Go on, handsome. Eat it for me.”

Obedient, he lowers himself. He remembers how much Silver had liked it when he lapped from the water bowl. He takes it slow. Wanting to make this as good for her. The bells jingle as he picks up each chunk of watermelon with his mouth and looks at her as he holds it on his tongue. He watches her pupils blacken as he eats each piece, like he’s eating her.

“You’re a tease, handsome,” she says as he finishes.

“Yes, Mistress.”

“I’m gonna take those clamps off you now.”

“Thank you, Mistress.”

He kneels up and her gloved hand finds his chest, caresses it slowly. She takes her time letting her fingers close around the first silver bell. She’s breathing heavy. They both are. “It’ll hurt when I take them off,” she whispers.

“Good.”

“Why is it good?”

“I want you to hurt me, Mistress.”

“Why do you want that?”

He holds her eye. “Because you like it.”  
“Well that’s true,” she says and she does it. She pulls the tiny bell off his nipple and the sensation of that part of his body suddenly coming back to life makes him yell out. Silver gasps in a ragged breath, running a thumb over the sore spot so he hisses in pain. “And now the other,” she says, her voice still low. 

“Thank you, Mistress.”

When she takes the second one it hurts more. He cries out louder and falls forward on to her, head on her shoulder. She reaches up and strokes the back of his head a moment, before pulling him up and off her with a handful of hair. 

His face is almost touching hers. She looks into his eyes.

He looks back.

Her breathing is heavy, soft pants of arousal. And he’s matching it, breathing just the same. She looks at his lips. 

“No kissing, huh, handsome?”

He shakes his head. 

“You regretting that?”

“A little.”

“I know the feeling.” She takes a breath like she’s steadying herself. “It’s not usually so tough.”

“I’m flattered.”

She laughs at that, just a short soft noise and then she slaps him hard around the face.

“Thank you, Mistress.”

“I suppose, there are other uses for your mouth,” she says, getting to her feet. He looks up at her, then looks down. In front of him are her shiny black shoes and that single patch of bare skin on the top of each foot. “Kiss them.”

“Thank you, Mistress.” And that time the phrase comes out a little harder, and in a voice that cracks as he gets halfway through the last word. She’s teaching him a lesson here. Showing him that she can tease him just as much as he can tease her. Her kisses her toe. Desire flood through him, hot and cold. He lifts his head and kisses the other. He looks up at her, eyes glassy with desire. There’s a long soft moment. She bends down and takes his chin, lifts it up and slips her thumb into his mouth. 

“That’s nice, handsome,” she says, “very nice,” she says, like something from a dream. “That’s all for today. Now, come though here, you can walk.”

He blinks and gets to his feet slowly and follows her through a door into a side room. It’s much smaller than the room they were in. Cosier. Silver picks something up and wraps it around him. It’s a blanket. It’s the softest blanket he’s ever felt. 

“You okay for a minute?” she says. He nods. There’s a couch in the room and a fireplace. “Just want to get this thing off.” She slips back though the door. He settles down, lying on the couch listens to the fire crackle.

The couch feels like the most comfortable piece of furniture he’s ever sat on. He stretches out his legs under the blanket.

The door opens and Clara appears. She’s wearing a grey onesie. He looks at it. “Nice outfit,” he says, still sounding dreamy.

“It’s the same outfit as earlier, just in a different fabric,” she says, strolling over to the couch and making him schootch up so she can sit down. She pulls his head onto her lap and strokes his hair. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he says softly. “I feel kinda floaty.”

“That’s normal.”

“Was I good?” he says.

“Yeah,” she says, ruffling his hair a little, “you were good.”

It’s quiet for a bit after that. Then she says, “Sorry about that…, the weird bit.”

“That’s okay. I liked it.” He looks up at her.

“Did you?”

“Got to kiss your shoes.”

She’s still stroking his hair. “When do you have to be at work?”

“Call’s in a couple of hours.”

“You can stay here if you want. For a while. I’ve got not other appointments.”

He takes a breath. It feels so good here. On this couch, under this blanket, with the fire and her fingers in his hair. But this isn’t really okay. He knows it isn’t. “Better not,” he says. “I’ll get up in a minute.”

He gets up in ten.


	4. Chapter 4

A few days pass. He feels good, satisfied like he’s been warmed deep in his bones. He basks in it. But he doesn’t dwell.  
And, crucially, he doesn’t text.

It’s done. That thing. He wanted to do it and he did it and it’s done.

So, he texts her from the airport. “Great to see you again. Thanks for everything.” Puts his phone into flight mode right after.

He doesn’t pick up her reply until the plane lands, eager fingers fumbling the buttons as soon as the cabin crew allow it. She’s replied. 

Her message says, “You’re welcome.”

Not even, “you’re welcome, handsome.”

He thinks about that two word text on the cab ride home. He decides that she’s being distant on purpose, probably trying to reel him in again. Get another pay day out of him. She’s a professional. 

But late at night, lying awake, he thinks it might be something else. Clara’s good at her job. But he knows she wants him a little. Perhaps she’s being cold to protect herself. He turns that idea over. Unless she just knows, better than most actors how to make it seem like she has feelings she’s trying to hide. Unless she’s that good.

He thinks about how hot it is to give her money. How much it makes his breath hitch and his dick pulse to think about the fact he has to pay. He thinks about her telling him all he got for a cranberry juice was to kneel on the floor and kiss her boot. He thinks about how much she might charge him next time. How he wants he to charge him more and more.

*

A few weeks later he has to take another plane and he’s alone again in another country. He thinks of her. Of how they met. But this is a different country. He won’t meet her here.

He won’t meet _her_ , but, he tells himself, women like Clara and her line of work are hardly a rarity. He could find another place to get tied up and beaten. He’s thought of it before. He isn’t sure how it’s done, but how hard could it be?

There’s a guy on the crew of this show who seems kind of sleazy. Seems like he’d know where to find a _dungeon_ , a _dominatrix_ , but when he thinks about saying those words out loud, he feels sick.

He doesn’t need to say anything out loud though, does he? He can look online. But he worries. People can trace these things. What if someone checked what he’d been looking for? Better not to leave a trail.

In the end, he finds an excuse for everything he could do that would lead him to someone who wasn’t her. Wasn’t Clara. 

Instead he buys a collar from a pet store. It’s stiff and black with silver studs. It looks like it’s made for a large, strong dog. He pays in cash. When he gets back to his hotel room he stashes it away in the top drawer under a pile of socks. He catches a glimpse of it every morning and his breath catches as he touches it.

He has it in that drawer a week before he puts it on. He’s alone. It’s early evening and he takes it into the bathroom. He holds it close to his neck, lifting his chin. It makes him feel vulnerable.

His heart is beating so hard and fast as he wraps the leather around his neck, slips the tongue through the buckle, thinking of Silver’s fingers. Her PVC gloves touching the skin at his neck. Before he closes the buckle, just for a moment, he pulls it tight, just to feel what that would be like, and the rush is so hard and fast he arches throwing his head back. 

After he’s got a hold of himself and his breathing has calmed, he closes the buckle, pressing his fingers between his skin and the collar like Silver did.

He stares at himself. He pulls his shirt off and stares again. He looks good. His phone is on the shelf behind the sink. He grabs it a take a quick snap of himself. Desperate. He looks good in it. He thinks, he’ll text her the photograph. Then checks himself. He can’t do that. He mustn’t.

Instead he drops his pants and underwear on the bathroom floor, goes into the bedroom where there’s a bigger mirror and gets down on his knees. When he looks at himself, naked and collared on the floor he’s panting.

His skin is prickling, overloaded with excitement. He touches his arm and gasps. He touches his chest, runs a hand over his pebbling nipples.

He stares and stares at himself, heady with it. Is this what she sees? Is this good for her? Is she thinking about him the way he thinks about her. Does she touch herself thinking about him on his knees?

He fists a hand around his dick. Just that single touch is enough to make him moan with desire. He images she’s there, standing over him, pressing the toe of her boot against the root of his dick as she tells him what to do. 

With that image in his mind he comes quickly, watching himself and aching for Silver. But as soon as it’s done, before his spend is even cooled he fumbles the collar off his neck and drops it on the floor, crawls into bed, wracked with guilt and confusion.

He alone in his room, but he feels like he’s crossed a line here.

When he wakes in the morning. He stuffs the collar back into the drawer and doesn’t touch it again.

He doesn’t think about Silver. Until he does. 

It happens after the wrap party. He doesn’t often drink to excess but tonight the wine has slipped down easy. When he gets back to his hotel room he’s drunk.

 

He picks up his phone. He scrolls through. He wants to see what he looks like in the collar, and finds photo he took of himself wearing it. He looks at it. He knows he looks good.

Before he’s thinking, he finds Silver’s number and sends her the picture. With a message.

“Please, Mistress.”

His breath catches as soon as he’s done it. Too late to take it back. He is filled with instant regret and thinks perhaps it won’t send. She won’t be there. She won’t reply. She won’t reply and if she does, he’ll ignore her.

But a few minutes later when she responds, “You need something, handsome?”

He types back. “Yes, Mistress.”

“What do you want?”

“Can I call you? Please?”

He can hardly bear to look at his phone waiting for her response. His head is still thick and spinning from the drink. After an age the device in his hand buzzes.

“Give me a minute.”

He swallows. He takes a pull from the bottle of water beside the bed. Is she going to call him? He can hardly believe it.

And then, he staring at his phone, when it buzzes. It’s not a text. It’s more insistent. It’s a call. It’s a video call.

He takes a breath, lifts his chin, presses the call button.

Her face fills the screen. She’s in bed. Which makes his breath catch. Hadn’t he once daydreamed about seeing her in bed? Her hair is round her shoulder. He’s never seen her hair like that before. She looks younger, sweeter. Her face is bare and pale. She smiles at him. “Hello handsome. You had a big night?” Her tone is playful. She knows he’s drunk and she’s mocking him.

“It was a wrap party,” he says, wishing he was wearing something more enticing that a black t shirt. Wishing, truly, that he was wearing the collar. The collar and nothing else. 

She wriggles against the pillows. She has a quilt tucked up under her arms covering her body, but he can see the black lace straps of something. He wishes she’d show it to him. 

“A wrap party,” she says. “So glamorous.”

“I wish you’d been there.”

“Do you, handsome?” she’s still smirking. Still amused by the state he’s in. 

“I’m not just saying that because I’m tipsy. I’ve been thinking about you. A lot. I bought a collar.” He takes a breath realising his voice has got high and loud. “Because I missed you,” he says in a more measured tone.

“I know,” she says, sweetly. “You sent me a picture.”

“Oh. Yeah.” He’d almost forgotten. He bites his lip. “I probably shouldn’t have done that.”

“I’ve seen you in a collar before.”

“Yeah. And not much else.”

“I remember, handsome.”

“You liked it.”

“Oh, did I?”

He takes a breath. His head has cleared a little but his desire, his need, it’s just as strong as before. “Sorry,” he says, “I meant to say: did you like it, Mistress? Did you like having me naked and collared?” And he’s not sure, but he thinks, when he said that, she swallowed.

“Sure, I did, handsome. I loved everything we did.”

“I told myself I’d stop. I can’t do it anymore.”

“That gonna work?”

“Doesn’t look like it.”

She doesn’t reply. She looks a him and her face on the tiny screen of his phone looks sweet and sad.

Eventually she says, “Look, I, I don’t want you to fuck up your marriage.”

“I know. I’m trying not to. Mistress, please, it’s so hard. All I want is to get on my knees and beg you to hurt me. I need it.”

She pauses. “You can beg me now.”

“Oh,” he says, then, “Thank you, Mistress.” 

He props up the phone against the water bottle beside the bed and is starting to kneel up on the bed where she can see him, when she says, “Wait. Handsome, you should wear the collar.”

He nods, mouth dry, and stumbles across the room to fetch. He pulls off his shirt and his jeans as he gets back on the bed, watching her face as he buckles on the collar. He can feel the blood rushing in his ears. He feels alive. He feels better than he ever has. He wants to do this. He knows he can make it good.He wets his bottom lip. “Please,” he says, his voice small and cracking slightly. “Please, Mistress, please. I want it so much.”

“You want what?”

“”I want you to hurt me,” he says, almost a whine. “I want to take pain for you. I want to show you how brave I can be.”

“That’s,” Silver pauses and swallows. “That’s quite an offer.”

“Thank you, Mistress.”

“If I was there, I’d love to grant you wish.”

“Is there something else I could do for you?” He says. That desperate whine again. “I want to do something for you.”

She looks at him, a little unsure. “There is something. I’m not sure if it’s okay though.”

“You know I’ll do anything. I don’t care how degrading it is.” He answers fast, eager for her to know how much he’d do for her. How willingly. 

“I’m not sure about this though,” she says. “There are rules.” 

“What rules?” he says, talking in time with his racing heartbeat. “I don’t care about rules.” 

“They’re your rules, handsome.”

“I don’t care. How many times. I don’t care about any rule. I just want to do whatever say, whatever you want.”

“Handsome, come for me,” says Silver. “Jerk off while I watch you.”

He takes a breath. He feels like he’s dropping. Falling through space. He’s going to obey her. He knows he is. He’s going to do something terrible for her. Something transgressive and wrong. She’s pushing him into a place he didn’t want to go and he likes that. He’s going to cross a line he drew himself and the shame of that, it’s making him throb with desire. 

He shoves off his underwear and fists his dick. “Yes, Mistress,” he says, eyes on her, breath hitching already, his arousal growing fast and faster when he sees Silver’s eyes go glassy and dark on the phone screen.

“I like seeing you like this,” Silver says, her voice a low growl. “I like seeing you giving everything to me.”

“Yes, Mistress,” he pants out, close now, close already.

“I like it when you show me that you belong to me.”

“Please Mistress,” he says then, and he’s right on his edge. “I just want you to own me. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.” And that’s what it takes. He comes over his hand with a jolt and a cry.

When he looks at Clara, her eyes are wide. But inside he feels cold inside. Sharp and sudden. All his desire is gone and all he feels is regret. He says, “I’m sorry. I should go.” He ends the call.

*

The next morning, the events of the previous night come back to him in the shower. He feels it in a wave of sadness. What he’d done. Not what he’d done with Clara, but the fact he’d pushed her away right afterwards. Overwhelmed and confused by what he was feeling.

When he goes back into the bedroom and picks up his phone he finds she has send him a text. A long text that fills the screen.

“Handsome, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. You had boundaries. I knew what they were. I should never have asked you to do that. I just wanted it so much. I know that’s a bad excuse. But it’s the truth. I like you a lot, handsome.”

He looks at her words. He’s still confused by what happened between them last night, but he likes what she’s said. He reads it over a few times. 

Then he replies, “I could have said no.”

“Could you?”

He doesn’t reply to that. He knows they both know he couldn’t have. Instead he writes. “I still wish you could hurt me. It’s all I can think about.” 

His phone buzzes. “Get on a plane, handsome.”


	5. Chapter 5

It’s her address. 

Not the address of a dungeon. Her home.

When he gets there, it’s an apartment building. There’s a panel of buzzers by the door. He pecks out her number and when she answers with, “Hey,” the door makes a sound and lets him into the entryway before he can speak. 

He takes the lift, looking at himself in the mirrors when he’s inside. He’s wearing a black t shirt, black jeans. Black seemed like a good idea. Clara wears black all the time. 

He doesn’t know why he’s here. What they’re going to do. He isn’t even sure what he wants to happen. The only answer to the question of why he’s here is that he’s here because she told him to come here. Perhaps she’s fooling with him. Perhaps she’ll open the door to him and laugh at the fact he’s crossed the earth for her on just a word. He notices, when he thinks that, that he doesn’t even hate that idea. It thrills him. That he’d come all this way and she’d laugh in his face and slam the door. That he’d hear her still laughing on the other side of the closed door, telling some real lover how pathetic he was as he sank to his knees on her doorstep, left with nothing, whimpering for her touch. 

But he forgets about that as soon as she opens the door. She’s in sweatpants, a t shirt. She looks momentarily surprised to see him, like he didn’t text her a couple of hours ago when he landed. Like she didn’t just buzz him up. 

“Clara? Are you okay?”

Her hand goes to her face. To the bruise over her cheekbone. “Yeah. I’m… yeah.”

“Did someone hit you?” he says, then adds, awkwardly, “Did you want them to?”

“Come in, babe,” Clara says. “This isn’t a doorstep conversation.”

She waves away any further enquiries until she’s fetched them both coffee. He sits on her sofa, trying not to be overwhelmed to be in her home with it’s neat green carpet and white couch. He doesn’t want to be on this couch right now. He wants to be on the floor. He wants to be kneeling naked at her feet. He wants to be drinking this coffee out of a bowl, or licking it off her boots. He squirms. He doesn’t thinks she’s noticed. He drinks his coffee and stares at her until she says, “You remember, when I saw you last.”

He nods and can’t help a smirk. “Yeah.”

“I don’t mean that.” She smiles too but it’s a little fake. He can see it. He knows her real smiles so well. “Before that, when I said that then dungeon where I used to work might think I was stealing a client by seeing you. Well, they dropped by to tell me they didn’t like it.”

He startles, horrified. It was him.This was his fault. Something bad happened to her because of him. “Did they hurt you?”

“Not really,” she says touching the bruise on her face. “This was a bit of an accident, I think. But they weren’t… It wasn’t nice.”

“Are they going to come back?”

“No. They made their point. And I gave them their money.” She smiles. “You’re all mine now.”

He isn’t smiling. “Fuck. Fuck. Clara.” He leans forward. “Is there anything I can do? I want to make it up to you. I’ll pay you whatever they took. And more. Double.” His breath catches. Talking about giving her money always gets under his skin. 

She shakes her head. “It wasn’t your fault, handsome.”

“It was. It was my fault. And you should punish me for it.” He swallows. “Really.” Softer, “Please.”

“Oh, buddy, no, I…” And then she pauses, looks up and catches his eye. Her expression changes. “I suppose it could make this whole thing more pleasant if I did. I’m not sure what’d be fair though.”

He answers quickly. “Do anything you want. You can do anything to me.”

“Really, handsome, you probably need to stop saying stuff like that, because we both know that’s not true, but, there is something. There is something I’ve been thinking about. With you. Something I’d love to do. But I don’t know… it’s a fantasy.”

For a second he can’t breathe. She’s been thinking about him. She has _fantasies_ about him.

“I’m not sure I should,” she says.

“Is it sex?”

“No.”

“Then it’s fine.”

“I don’t know. It’s that, I want to hurt you. I want to hurt you a lot. That’s what I think about.”

“Are you going to break my bones.”

She laughs. “No.”

“Then you can do it. Do it. I want you to do it.”

He sees her swallow. “Can I leave marks?”

“Yes,” he says. “So long as they’re not permanent. I’d like marks.”

She nods, then whispers, “Christ.” Then, “You’re sure?”

“I think so. How bad is it going to be?”

“So bad you can’t enjoy it.”

“Right. Can I try?”

“Can I stop you?”

“I don’t think so.” He pauses. “I’d like that. I’d like it to be so bad I couldn’t enjoy it. I want that.” He’s panting.

She’s the same, taking a breath and looking like she’s barely holding it together. “Right then.” Another breath. “Beg me for it.”

He holds her gaze. He knows how to make this good. “Do whatever you want to me, Mistress,” he says softly. “Please Mistress. Use me. Hurt me. Jesus, please.”

“Christ,” she says, overwhelmed. “You are… You’re fucking perfect.” He voice stiffens. “Get off that chair.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Get on the floor. You know where you’re supposed to be.”

It’s lightening through him. Desperate desire. Just a few words. And its so good. “Yes Mistress,” he says, slipping off the sofa and onto his knees. 

_Where he’s supposed to be._

*

He’s in her bedroom, trying not to let that fact alone overwhelm him. Its the bedroom he saw when she called him. It’s tidy apart from the white bed linen, pulled from the bed and bundled onto the floor. He’s spread on a white sheet, face down, naked. She’s strapped him with leather cuffs, wrist and ankle to her sturdy wooden bed frame. He’s thrilled to note that there appear to be permanent anchor points in place. 

He’s strung tight, burning with it a little under his arms, where they are pulled up high and wide.

He likes it.

He likes it so fucking much.

“I’m not going to warm you up,” she says. “I’m not going to be nice.”

“Good,” he says. “Don’t be.”

And before he’s even done she hits him with something. Hard and fast. She sets a line of fire across his ass with a thudding _smack_.

“Uh,” he grunts out, trying to catch his breath as a wave of pain, breaks over him, sickening and hot. 

“That’s nice, handsome,” she coos. “I love the sounds you make.”

“Thank you, Mistress,” he says, sounding half broken already. Stunned by the amount of pain.

“It’s a cane,” she says. “I’m awfully fond of them. The welts are going to be so pretty.”

She hits him again. _God it hurts_. He feels the sting and the thud together and the stripe of pain is so bright he feels like he can close his eyes and see the red slash of it. He squirms against ropes, there’s hardly any give but it makes his dick rub against the bed. Against _her_ sheet, and he huffs out, “Thank you, Mistress,” before she hits him again.

There are a lot of strokes. For a while it hurts. He can deal with it, even enjoy it. Enjoys suffering for her, enjoys feeling strong and brave. And the noises she makes help. Her breath getting heavy as she hurts him, the soft moans. He might be naked but she’s only taken off her sweatpants. She’s in her underwear and t shirt, but he’s sure he can smell sex in the air as she gets turned on by beating him. He loves that. It’s the best part of all of it.

But, eventually, the strokes blur. He can’t feel each one as it’s own bright stripe, now it’s just smacking thuds and pain everywhere. It’s harder to ride and breathe through each one. She was right about him not being able to like it. There’s no more pleasure, even when Silver gasps, the pain is too much. He’s a moaning, writhing thing, trying desperately to move out of the path of the cane, but he can’t.

She starts to hit the backs of his thighs. He’s screaming now, jerking at the leather cuffs on his wrists. He thinks about the safe word, “Red.” But he told her she could do this. And despite everything, despite how much it hurts he still wants her to do it. Wants her to take whatever she wants from him.

He waits until the pain is more than he can bear and says, “Please, Mistress, please stop. Please i can’t.”

She does, at least, stop for a moment. She’s breathless when she says, “Say that again, handsome.”

“Please, Mistress. I can’t take anymore. Please stop.”

She bends down, a hand on his burning ass to steady herself. He moans at the touch on his hot, sore skin. Her lips are at his ear. He can feel the heat of her, her excitement coming off her in waves. He listens to her heavy breathing and moment and then she says, “You know handsome, I love it when you beg for mercy.”

He whimpers. Everything still hurts so much. And that tone, he never heard her voice sound like that before. She almost sounds drunk. He’s sure what’s coming.

“But what I love even more,” comes the next breathless whisper. “I love it when you scream in pain.”

“Please,” he says again, but she’s gone, lifting the cane in the air. 

She hits him five, six more times, his ass again, his legs again, he can’t even tell. The safeword is on his lips, but before he can say it, he feels her hand tight on his shoulder. He braces for whatever’s coming next, but it isn’t what he expects. She is shaking. And then she moans out loud, grips him harder and manages, “Christ, handsome.”

He cries out as her fingernails dig into him and she moans louder, jerking above him. He turns his head to look at her, amazed.

After a moment, she blinks back at him.

“Did you just…?” he whispers.

She nods. For a moment more, they just stare at each other. Then he says, “Now we’re even.”

*

In bed, with him untied, she snuggles up to him, her head on his chest and sighs.

He looks down at her. “I never expected this.”

She twists around. “Cuddling? I do like cuddling. I’m not a monster, handsome.”

They stay like that for a while and he knows this is wrong. He tries to rationalise it. They’ve touched before. He’s lain in her lap. He needs this after what he’s just been through. But now they’re in bed. And they might not have had sex, or even kissed, but there’s no pretending this isn’t cheating.

But he’s not going to stop. He knows he’s not. Knows he can’t. He says, “You’ve been thinking about that? Doing that to me?”

“Mmm?” she says. “Yeah. Guilty.”

“You think about me?”

“You know I like you, handsome. You’re pretty much everything I’ve ever wanted.” He feels her shrug against him.

“I really like it. I like the idea of you thinking about me.”

“I just want to beat you until you’re raw and crying for it to stop, then make you go down on me for hours,” she says, dreamily. Then checks herself, “Sorry. I’m a bit out of it.”

“It’s okay. I would, you know. If I could. God, I’d love to do that.” And he would. He really would. But he can’t. There are the lines they’ve crossed, the lines they’ve drifted over, and there’s place they know they can’t go. 

Would he do it if she told him to? If she ordered him. If she beat him until he offered anything to make it stop?

Those are questions it is best not to ask.

“What are we doing?” she says suddenly.

“Don’t,” is his reply. The only one he can think of. “Don’t ask that. I can’t think about that or we’d have to stop.”

“You know what I can’t think about?” she says, “Your life. Your real life. I can’t stand it. The idea of you at home. Your domestic life. Your wife and kid.”

“Kids. I have two kids.”

“Oh god,” she whines. “Two kids. Do you like it?”

“Do I like my kids?”

“Do you like your life. Your life at home, I mean.”

“Yes. I love it. It’s all I ever wanted. That life. The whole thing. A wife and kids. What I always dreamt about having, but, the trouble is, so is this. I always wanted this too. You. The things you do to me. But I know I can’t have both. We’re over a line now. And I don’t know what to do because I can’t give this up. And I can’t keep doing it.”

**Author's Note:**

> Still on tumblr, for now, as [mathildia](https://mathildia.tumblr.com/)


End file.
